


Dream Dance

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Albus Dumbledore - character, Community: minerva_fest, Dreams, F/M, Memories, Minerva McGonagall - character, PostWar, Potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The stars around them formed the notes of an orchestra as they spiraled through the night.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Dance

Minerva hoisted the skirts of her dressing gown and nightdress up to her calves and stepped onto the footstool, its tapestry cover worn and fraying in the spots where her heels usually rested. She let go of her skirts and reached up to a wide shelf. A spider scurried away as she brushed cobwebs and dust out of the shadowed recesses at the back of the shelf. The squat vial evaded her fingers for a moment, and she grumbled under her breath, rising up on her toes. She had pushed it too far to the rear of the shelf last time, and she had to scrabble for it with muttered curses and an irritated huff. It always took her long enough to talk herself into doing this; any delay was a source of unnecessary frustration. Finally she had the heavy bottle in hand, and she stepped off the footstool, taking care to brace against the twinge in her knee.

She settled into her chair, the faded upholstery and misaligned cushioning as comfortable and familiar as the tartan blanket she pulled over her legs. Minerva examined the bottle, rolling it between her palms and wiping dust off the crystal stopper with the pad of her thumb. The vial had appeared in her office midway through that horrible year when the Carrows had run wild and malevolent through her school. There had been no note, no label, no identifying information, and at first she'd been terribly suspicious, remembering the mead incident of the year before. Her first suspect, Draco Malfoy, had denied any knowledge of the bottle's existence, and the shuttered and fearful look on his drawn face had held no lie. Still leery, she'd tossed it in the bin and tried to forget it.

It reappeared two days later, in the pale hands of Severus Snape. "It's not so common for me to give gifts," he'd told her. "I don't generally expect to find them in the rubbish." He set the bottle on the table and met her eyes. "Two drops," he'd said. "When ... when it's the worst."

She didn't test it out until after the war, after the funerals, after the nightmares. When she did, she blessed Severus for the first time in years. She'd expected a sedative, something that deadened her emotions and her memories, but what it provided was far more useful. Far more delightful.

Tonight, she tipped two drops into a small glass of pumpkin juice, saluted the photographs of friends and colleagues on the mantle, and drank. The fire danced merrily, warming her feet, and the potion sent waves of pleasure through her body. She tucked the blanket around her hips and folded her hands in her lap as she closed her eyes.

\---

The double doors facing her were twice as tall as she, made of heavy, ancient oak carved with hundreds of images. Stags, harts, unicorns, dragons; hollyhock, mistletoe, lilac, thistle. No latch or knob opened these doors. Minerva raised her hand and they swung open with the sound of child's sigh. Beyond them, the stone walls of a ballroom stretched into the distance, disappearing in shimmering silver mist. Dancers swirled like leaves in autumn; an orchestra, unseen and unled, filled the room with music that carried both melancholy and hope.

Minerva looked down and spread her hands over the skirts of her elaborate gown, done up in silks and satins. Black as a night when storm clouds covered the moon, it clung to her body and rustled against the flagstones. She shook her head, her long braid switching between her bared shoulders. "No," she said in a murmur. "It should be red."

The color bloomed from her center, spreading out around her like a midnight rose. Scarlet rushed over the fabric, reaching across the ballgown and surrounding her. It ran to her arms and down her hips, until the gown was crimson in almost every inch. The hems of her skirts and the cuffs of her sleeves stayed black, tipped like flower petals. Minerva's mouth curled in a smile, and she stepped forward.

The dancers spun around her, but never crossed her path. They left an opening, a corridor walled with twirling gowns and flashing robes. As the orchestra's song rose, she lifted her chin, and a man stepped out of the crowd. His robes were the soft hues of the thistles on the moors, his long hair shone like burnished copper, and behind his half-moon spectacles, his eyes sparkled like stars. "Minerva," he said, smiling.

She inclined her head. "Albus."

He bowed to her, she curtsied to him, and they joined hands with the rolling throb of drums. They danced in the center of the room, eyes and fingers locked. Minerva's heart beat in time with the plucked notes of the harp; her feet moved in rhythm with the low drone of the bassoon. They danced together, moved in step against the backdrop of faces smiling from her past. Young witches, old wizards, heros and warriors, students and colleagues, lovers and friends.

The most valued of those long-time companions drew her closer, his hand slipping around her waist. Her skin burned beneath the scarlet fabric of her gown. Her cheeks burned an equal scarlet and she saw Albus' smile widen. He spun her with him, spun her about and out of a set of latticed doors at the far end of the ballroom. They spun and danced down a long, grassy avenue, between tall hedges clipped into the shapes of wild beasts.

The stars danced over them, swirling and twinkling, and when Albus snapped his fingers, they came spilling out of the sky. Some twirled around her and Albus; some settled on the folds of her gown and the pleats of his robes. Minerva laughed in delight, feeling weightless and free, and she looked down to see they were dancing a full ten feet off the ground. She and Albus spun on a dance floor made of air and clouds, and she brushed her knuckles across his cheek with a smile.

He looked over the tops of his half-moon spectacles, and his eyes shone brighter than the stars that carried them through the night sky. "You look lovely tonight," he said, and tipped his head to ghost his lips across her palm. Minerva shivered and they drifted higher, their feet marking out the patterns of a waltz. Albus drew her in closer, his arm around her waist, his hand slipping up the length of her spine. His fingers kneaded between her shoulders, finding the spot at the base of her neck where the muscles always stayed taut. Under his gentle touch, the tension eased, though with the dance and the company, there had been very tension left in her body.

She smiled and slid her hand beneath the thick mass of his auburn hair to cup his nape. "You're a liar," she said with affection. She shook her head at the twinkle in his eyes, but the compliment made her warm. She ignored the heat in her cheeks and the twist of Albus' mouth that indicated he'd noticed her blush. "I've never looked lovely. My own father described me as a stern-faced child. Or was it stone-faced? It was a very long time ago."

Albus laughed. "Then times have changed, wouldn't you say? Well past time to accept something new, especially on a night like this. You're lovely, Minerva." He drew her to his solid chest and leaned his cheek against hers. His fingers tapped out a pattern down her spine to ride low on the curve of her waist. "You're lovely. I won't have it any other way."

Minerva smiled and closed her eyes. The stars around them formed the notes of an orchestra as they spiraled through the night.

\---

She sighed deeply and opened her eyes. Severus had been many things in his life, spy, traitor, assassin, and hero, but sometimes what she blessed him for the most was his ability with potions. The fantasies his little concoction brought to her were always pleasurable and brilliant. It was a shame that even a potions master with his skill couldn't bring dreams to reality, but there was only so much that any man could be expected to do. He'd provided her with several years of delightful dreams, and that was quite enough to be getting on with, especially at her age.

She shook herself firmly and flipped the blanket off her legs. She folded it up and placed it carefully over the back of the chair. The stopper for the bottle had rolled off the table and it took her a moment of searching to find it, her knees creaking as she lowered to the floor. Beneath her chair, she found the stopper and a scrap of fabric.

Minerva sat back on her heels and drew the fabric out. She ran it through her fingers, staring at it in wide-eyed wonderment. Red satin, edged with black silk, it shimmered in the light from the fire crackling in the hearth. She snapped her eyes up and locked gazes with the man in a photograph on the mantle. In his frame, Albus bowed to her and danced away into a swirl of stars.


End file.
